


More

by punky_96



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Double Penetration in One Hole, F/F, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 15:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12368892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punky_96/pseuds/punky_96
Summary: Re-post from LJ as part of the fic transfer.Angsty, angsty. Miranda comes to Emily over a year after she pushed her away.





	More

_**More**_  
  
I was finally at Paris fashion week. Years with Miranda Priestly and I had never been able to go. At first I was too new and then I was simply run-over. I should write a memoir of my times in New York and title it Bitch and a Taxi. Let people make what they will of that. I can’t say that I was glad to come to French Runway, but at least there was no doubt about going to Paris fashion week. On this side of the pond the question was who would get to go to New York’s fashion week. Everyone always wants what’s on the other side. Well, not me, thank you very much. I had had quite enough of New York. They could have the whole city.  
  
And Miranda Priestly. They could have her too.  
  
Excused from my duties, I stepped out onto the patio. The city was aglow as it always was after dark. I looked off into the distance imagining my own stylized version of the landscape. I added extra darkness to corners, glowing eyes, a winged creature or two watching over the city from the parapets. In my mind it was like I could hold the city in my hand and know all of its secrets. I wished I did.  
  
I didn’t know I was crying until a cold finger wiped tears off my chin.  
  
I didn’t know she was sitting next to me until I saw my tears in her eyes.  
  
Her tears shone, but did not fall. I felt my body breathing, but all that I could understand of the world was that her tears were for me. Suddenly the landscape was reduced to just us two, and the rest faded away. Her blue eyes searched mine as seconds stretched to hours. Her lips were open just slightly and I wondered why she did not speak. I wondered if her lungs were malfunctioning like mine. She reached again to wipe my tears, which once loose had kept flowing. Her fingertips cupped my cheek and her thumb brushed the moisture. I leaned into the touch, then realizing my mistake, I flushed and pulled away. She dropped her hand to her lap and looked down at her clasped fingers.  
  
I sat, shocked, watching her on the bench mere inches from me.  
  
The motion caught my eye and I gasped as I saw the splat of a tear on the skin of her hand.  
  
“Miranda?” It was the most and the least I could do. I had never asked her a question and until that moment I had not wanted to talk to her ever again. Time it seemed healed all wounds, but it passed me by.  
  
Turning further away from me, I saw Miranda Priestly retreat. I didn’t know what to make of it. Her tears were for me, she could not look me in the eye, and it seemed I held the power. I did not understand and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.  
  
My hand decided to comfort her. I felt my palm hot against the cold, smooth skin of her shoulder. I shivered from the electricity that shot through my body at the contact. “Miranda?” I uttered again as she sobbed. I pulled my hand away not wanting to harm. It rested on the concrete bench as ineffectual as I felt.  
  
“I should never have sent you away.” It was a whisper that hit my heart like a scream. I tilted my head looking at the silver lock of hair that dared to defy her and the tears that betrayed her. I could not imagine what storm she was caught in. Nor could I imagine why she came to me outside on a cold bench in Paris over a year after sending me away.  
  
“What?” There I finally did it. I broke my Miranda rule.  
  
Her body turned to face me, and her expression was suddenly wild, feral. “You.” The stage whisper felt like a strong finger jab to my heart. “I should not have sent you away.” Miranda stood and then kneeled on the bench scrunching her dress as she drew closer to me. “I, oh, Emily, I—” her blue eyes searched mine and then she reached up cupping my face. “I love you.” Her blue eyes slid shut and I could tell she was holding her face tightly against the tide of her emotions. Her hand slipped down to my knee. “Please, forgive me.”  
  
The music changed.  
  
The lights of la tour Eiffel changed.  
  
The door opened and the noise of the party was suddenly louder. It dissipated just as quickly. I didn’t dare to look.  
  
I watched this titan breathing in on counts of seven.  
  
I stood. I bent and pulled her hands and then her body to me.  
  
And I forgave her.  
  
I let it all go: the refusal to talk while we were involved, the sandbagging me for Andrea, the cold shoulder as she slipped a plane ticket and a new job contract on my desk in passing on a Friday. Like so much trash swept out with the tide, I saw her fresh and new and wanting. Her hands clung to mine and her eyes searched and searched.  
  
“Yes.” I whispered with furrowed brow. She sucked in a breath of air holding back her own hope. “I forgive you.”  
  
Slowly, watching me the whole time, Miranda wrapped her arms around me.  
  
We left not long after that. Neither of us cared for the party, which was ironic considering how much of our individual lives was spent chasing the dream. Paris is a city of romance and heartbreak in equal measures. Sometimes it is both at the same time. In the back seat of the taxi, my hand brushed against Miranda’s and she held it fast. It was so like our beginning that it fit without sarcasm when we did it again. The wonder of the moment was just as strong, just coming from a different angle. Miranda Priestly was holding my hand. The throb between my legs was the same as it was all those months ago. I wondered if we would talk more than last time. This was the beginning of something new, but would there be a new ending?  
  
“Take me back. Take me back. Please, Emily.” Once we were inside my flat, she pinned me against the cold wood of my door.  I stood breathless holding her against me. My hands tried to memorize her skin since I didn’t know if she was real anymore. “I was foolish. I didn’t want to need you.” Her eyes pinned me and we stared for long moments there against my door. “You could come back.” Her begging shocked me. The speed at which desperation appeared in her voice threw me off, but I couldn’t escape that this came down to her taking me back.  
  
While I enjoyed a good hair pulling and wouldn’t mind being dragged on the rare occasion, Miranda was no caveman and I wasn’t hers to conquer and bring home. “I can’t just come back!” My voice was shrill with refusal, want, and my own desperation.  
  
Had she really just offered to take me back to her life, to New York, to, to, to… What exactly?  
  
Was I really refusing it?  
  
“I have a life here.” I whispered with fresh tears filling my eyes.  
  
I sighed and wiped my face with both hands willing the waterworks to stop. I shook my head. This could not be happening. I thought what we had was worth fighting for and she pushed me away. Now she wanted to pull me back when I had resolved that my life had moved on. Or I had at least resolved that I would not flip my life on its ear for anyone, ever again.  
  
I looked her in the eye with sad acceptance on my features.  
  
She looked at me and for the first time since I saw her on the bench I saw the fierce woman that I had known before. I saw the dragon within her release its wings, flap them once as a test, and then with a mighty leap I saw it lunge forward soaring on its mighty wings and breathing a swathe of fire as she went. I saw the snap as sure as if I had snapped my fingers, but I could not react. I was busy telling my lungs to work, damn it.  
  
That was not the answer she wanted to hear and it was not the answer I wanted to give. Her strength poured out of her lips pressed hard against mine. She pulled me away from the door and unzipped my gown without pausing. I gasped into the kiss opening to her tongue and stumbling forward into her arms.  
  
That was it. As suddenly as I forgave her, my hands were unzipping her dress and I was pushing her back to my bedroom. We went as willingly as our clothes did.  
  
The mattress dipped under our weight and we did not bother to pull back the covers. My foot dangled off the bed with hers and it was lips, teeth, tongues, and fingers. We did not talk. There was nothing to say. The shudder and shake of our bodies should have been comforting—a healing or absolution.  
  
It wasn’t.  
  
We wanted more.  
  
We let each other catch a breath and then we were rolling, pulling, cursing each other. Swearing for leaving and letting go, swearing for time lost and a chance that slipped through our fingers even as we reached and reached for it.  
  
“More.” I said and bit her jaw. She flipped me over, pulled my hips up, and slapped my ass over and over again. I was petulant, ungrateful, took all I could from her and left. She entered me with four fingers and pulled my hair back as she commanded. “Do it. Make yourself cum.” I reached and circled—pinched and pressed. Anger and ecstasy made strange bedfellows I thought as I collapsed face first into the cover. I couldn’t help the drool or the aftershocks.  
  
I might have drifted off then, but her nails scored hard against my skin and I was on her in a flash. I hadn’t decided what I wanted—to punish or to treasure—and she scolded me. “By all means—” I didn’t let her finish. Instead I held my fingers over her mouth as I reached for the drawer. For old time’s sake, right? I held it up and her eyes watered, I knew she would beg, but I didn’t want that. After so long, I didn’t want her words. I didn't wait for her to adjust or her breath to settle again.  I reveled in the wildness possessing both of us.

She bit my finger and I felt the crunch of her teeth against the knuckles of my bone. Rough, I kept my rhythm rushing toward ecstasy with just enough variance to never settle. Her legs widened and she grunted her desire. She writhed for me and frantically pressed toward me.  
  
Beads of sweat broke out on Miranda’s face, her mouth pulled back as she breathed in. Her breasts shook with every press and her back arched beautifully. I wanted to slow down and savor this goddess’ body, which I had once been acquainted with and spent so many sleepless nights pining for.  
  
I don’t know if she saw it in my eyes or if like me anger was just dancing with ecstasy within her.  
  
“More.” She moaned and tossed her head back.  
  
Necessity, oh mother, I had no options readily available.

My fingers joined the toy pushing her toward a frenzied ecstasy.  Her eyes snapped open and I swear they glowed an iridescent blue. “Your fingers. Oh.” She pushed her hips up as her arms pressed up underneath her body.  
  
Maddened by the moment, my breathing matched hers in raggedness and rate. I felt as though I was diving into her. I felt as if she wanted me to—was begging me—with every press and push of her hips.  
  
Time stopped. I felt my own desire rising as her muscles stretched, moistened with a fresh gush of arousal around me and I lost myself to the passion strung between us like electricity on a tungsten filament.  
  
“Emily!” I came with her when she shouted my name and fell limp against the bed.  
  
I don’t know where we went, but we came together. I supposed in some way in that moment that we would leave together too. I just didn’t know how. Looking sidelong at her as I slipped away from her body, I shook my head at it all. That had been primitive and pure. It was so beautiful that I found myself weeping. I curled into her body, but no words were exchanged. She caressed my cheek and held my hand.  
  
My eyes slid shut. I opened them and hers were shut. I closed mine again. Maybe we would talk. Maybe not.  
  
I would have to decide if I could take her back as easily as I could forgive her sending me away.  
  
Long distance hurt almost as much as separation. Moving to the States originally, I had left a girl behind in London for New York. My heart went funny on me that year as she slipped away and I realized that I hadn’t been holding on very well. Yeah. That hurt.

  
  
**The End**  
  
  
  
x


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